LITTLE CAYUSE ON GUARD.
The gully, which the scout had selected as a fitting place to hide
the horses, was admirably adapted to the purpose.
The mouth broke into the wall of the cañon some fifteen feet above
the cañon’s bed, and a slope, formed of ancient washings from the
gully, led upward to the entrance of it.
It was narrow, filled with a growth of scrub, and its bed sloped
upward from the point where it entered the cañon.
Besides, it was a _blind_ gully, running into the hills for a few
hundred feet and terminating in a sheer wall. All the other walls
were equally steep and unscalable. There was no getting into the
gully in any way except from the cañon.
Little Cayuse took due account of all these advantages, and gave a
grunt of satisfaction. The horses he tethered among the bushes, and
then returned to the gully’s mouth, and sat down to watch and wait.
Hours passed, and the boy, through all that time, sat like a bronze
statue, wonderfully alert, but neither hearing nor seeing anything
that claimed his attention. Perhaps he would not have been so calm
and passive could he have known what was taking place in the depths
of the Forty Thieves!
The sun went down, daylight faded out of the west, and one by one
the stars stole over the sky. Cayuse watched them as they brightened
overhead.
At last he began wondering about Dell. She had been a long time on
watch at the shaft, and it had been agreed between them that she
should come to the gully, in three hours, and look out for the horses
while Cayuse watched the shaft. More than three hours had passed, and
Dell had not come.
The boy stepped out into the cañon and cast his eyes in the direction
of the mine. The defile was plunged in gloom, and Cayuse could see
nothing.
He threw back his head and gave the bark of a timber-wolf. No answer
came. He tried again, but still without securing a response.
It was a signal well known among the scout’s pards, and if Dell had
heard it she would surely have signified that she had by a similar
answer.
Why had she not heard?
A thrill of alarm ran through the boy. He feared something had
happened to the girl, and he stole cautiously forward to investigate.
As he neared the ore-dump, he saw a figure on the platform, over the
shaft. It was the form of a woman--he could tell that much--and he
supposed it was Dell.
“Yellow Hair!” he called.
The figure started up, holding something, and darted down the side of
the dump and out of sight among the dusky bushes.
Cayuse glided after the form, and before it had disappeared he
discovered that it was the form of an Indian girl, and made up his
mind that it was Wah-coo-tah.
Knowing Wah-coo-tah was a friend of Buffalo Bill’s, the boy called
her name, and darted into the bushes after her. When he got into the
chaparral, however, Wah-coo-tah had disappeared.
Puzzled by Wah-coo-tah’s actions, Little Cayuse climbed to the top of
the ore-dump and peered into the black shaft.
At that time, the scout and Dell were talking in the main level, and
the boy could not see or hear anything of them. He felt under the rim
of the platform. Not finding a rope, he naturally concluded that Dell
was not in the mine. Ignorant of the fact that Wah-coo-tah herself
had removed the rope, the boy naturally supposed that Dell had fallen
into the hands of Lawless and his men.
Skulking about in the chaparral, he hunted for some traces of the
white scoundrels. He was unsuccessful. Knowing that much might depend
upon the horses, he could not leave the animals unwatched, and so,
with a heavy heart, he made his way back to the gully.
For hour after hour the boy continued his lonely vigil, imagining all
sorts of things, but unable to do anything to settle his misgivings.
In the east he saw a gray streak of dawn hovering above the rim of
the cañon, and realized with a start that the night had passed, and
that day was at hand.
Perhaps, he reasoned, as daylight gathered and brightened the
surroundings, he might be able to discover what had become of Dell.
Meantime, the horses must not be neglected.
There was a pool in front of the gully’s mouth, and Cayuse led the
animals down, one at a time, and let them drink.
By the time he had finished this duty, the morning was well advanced
toward sunrise. As he picked his way out of the scrub in the
direction of the cañon, casting about in his mind as to the best
course for him to follow in looking for Dell, he came to a sudden and
astounded halt.
Looking out through the narrow opening into the cañon, he had
abruptly caught sight of three mounted men, and of another on foot.
The man on foot he recognized as Captain Lawless, Buffalo Bill’s
enemy; those on the horses Cayuse also knew, and they were Clancy,
Seth Coomby, and the scoundrel called “Tex,” all three members of
Lawless’ gang.
Dropping instantly to his knees, Cayuse crept closer to the mouth of
the gully. There, crouching behind a boulder, he watched and listened
with sharp eyes and ears.
The men were talking, and from his present position the boy could
hear them distinctly.
“I want you, Clancy,” Lawless was saying, “to set off those blasts as
soon as you can fire the fuses. The time to wipe out Buffalo Bill and
his pards has come. Quick work will do the trick.”
“An’ what’s ter become o’ us, arterwards?” asked Tex moodily.
“Pickin’ off a lot of fellers like Buffler Bill and his pards is
li’ble ter mean somethin’ ter _us_.”
“If you’re getting cold feet, Tex,” snapped Lawless, “now’s your time
to quit. Ride out of this cañon, if you want to, and go where you
please. If you do that, however, you’ll not come in for anything we
get out of the Forty Thieves. There’ll be just so much more for the
rest of us, and I’m figuring the mine will make us rich.”
“Don’t be a fool, Tex,” growled Seth Coomby. “Who’s goin’ ter
know thet we done fer the scout an’ his pards? It’ll look like er
accident.”
“Accident, nothin’,” scoffed Tex. “Didn’t the cap’n send the deed
ter Gentleman Jim, an’ along with ther deed didn’t he send a line
_darin’_ the scout ter stay three days an’ nights in the mine? Shore
he did! An’ thet means, when Buffler Bill an’ his pards aire done up,
thet the hull bloomin’ job is tacked onter us.”
“Are you going with Clancy and Coomby, Tex,” demanded Lawless
angrily, “or are you going to cut yourself out of this herd? Make up
your mind, for we haven’t any time to spare.”
“I’m game ter go on,” returned Tex. “I’m in so fur, now, thet it
don’t make much diff’rence, anyways.”
“That’s the way ter talk!” approved Clancy.
“Sure you’ve placed those loads right, Clancy?” asked Lawless,
turning to the other man, now that the business with Tex was settled.
“You bet! Them blasts’ll do the trick. Meanwhile, cap’n, you see to
it that no one gits on top o’ the dump an’ lets down a rope.”
“If any one tries to do that,” scowled Lawless, “he’ll be shot off
the dump. One of the Cheyennes is watching, and has his orders. But
who is there to help Buffalo Bill out of the hole? We’ve captured
the only two men he had with him, and he’s now bottled up in the
level and shaft, powerless to do anything to help himself. But ride
on, ride on. You boys understand what’s wanted, and there’s no use
wasting time in further parley.”
At that, the party separated, Clancy, Seth Coomby, and Tex riding
down the cañon, and Lawless retreating toward the cañon wall.
The alarm of Little Cayuse had increased almost to a panic. What he
had heard had struck him like a blow between the eyes.
Nomad and Wild Bill captured! Buffalo Bill helpless in the depths of
the mine, and a horrible doom of some kind about to be released and
sent down upon him!
What should he do?
That was the question that ran through Little Cayuse’s brain like a
searing-iron.
If he went back to the ore-dump, and tried to let down a rope to
the scout, the Cheyenne would kill him; if he followed Lawless--but
Lawless had already vanished; at least, Little Cayuse concluded, he
could follow the three basemen down the cañon, and perhaps might find
a way to interfere with their nefarious designs.
Rushing back up the gully, Cayuse untied Navi, twisted the buckskin
thong into a hackamore, and bounded upon the pinto’s bare back; then,
riding cautiously out into the cañon, he made after Clancy, Coomby,
and Tex.
Never had the faithful Piute boy felt that more was required of him,
and never had he felt so doubtful of his own powers.
Following three men in broad daylight, and at the same time keeping
out of their sight, was a difficult piece of work. What helped Cayuse
most, however, was the fact that the three white men were utterly
unsuspicious. They seemed to feel that they had no enemies at large
in the cañon, and they did no watching along the back track.
For the rest of it, the Piute took advantage of every patch of brush
and every convenient boulder that lay along his course.
Two miles down the defile, as Cayuse judged, the three horsemen
turned their mounts and set them directly at the high wall. In this
place the wall was a steep slope, yet the horses scaled it and
vanished over the rim with their riders.
For Cayuse to take Navi up the slope might mean discovery, and yet
the boy knew that he himself must climb to the top of the wall if he
was to learn what work the three men were to do.
Hitching Navi in a convenient thicket, at the foot of the wall,
Cayuse took his small repeating rifle and started on foot up the
ascent.
He climbed the steep slope swiftly and so carefully that he did not
displace a single stone. Where he gained the cañon’s rim there was a
fringe of hazels, and he was able to crawl over into the bushes and
peer through them, thus keeping out of sight.
In front of him was a lake, its surface almost level with the top of
the cañon wall, and a comparatively thin barrier of stone keeping its
waters out of the cañon.
The three white men had taken their horses well around the edge of
the lake, and were dismounting. There was little talk among them.
Clancy and Coomby had thrown off their coats and Tex was holding the
three horses.
Presently Clancy and Coomby returned around the edge of the lake and
halted for a space at the cañon’s rim. Cayuse, scarcely breathing,
crouched lower among the hazels and watched with staring eyes.
“Thar’ll be a reg’lar tidal wave goin’ along ther cañon in a couple
o’ shakes,” said Clancy, with an evil laugh.
“It’ll rush down on ther mine,” said Coomby, “purvidin’ the cap’n is
right in his calkerlations.”
“He’s gin’rally right.”
“Seems ter me, though, the water’ll flow directly a_way_ from the
mine.”
“From hyer ter the mine, Coomby, the bed o’ the cañon pitches
down-hill, in spite o’ the fact thet, taken by an’ large, this Sun
Dance deefile pitches to’ther way. The lake is down-cañon from the
mine, but the bed o’ the cañon is down-grade all the way from hyer
ter the Forty Thieves.”
“Waal, we’ll see. Let’s git down ter the fuses.”
Thereupon the two men lowered themselves over the top of the wall.
Cayuse, craning his neck, was able to see them applying a match to
the ends of the fuses. The men climbed quickly to the top of the
wall, and stood there, peering downward at the sputtering flames.
By that time the horror of the situation, so far as Buffalo Bill was
concerned, had flashed over the boy.
It was Lawless’ plan to blow away the stone barrier separating the
waters of the lake from the cañon! The waters, thus released, would
rush over the cañon wall, down the cañon, and flood the shaft and
level of the Forty Thieves! If Buffalo Bill was in the mine, he would
be drowned--there was no possible way for him to escape.
With every nerve tense, Cayuse pulled himself to one knee and lifted
his rifle to his shoulder. If he could shoot down the two men and
extinguish the blazing fuses----
This was the boy’s thought, and he would have executed the plan, or
tried to, had not fate played against him. The slight noise he made
in shifting to his knee and lifting the rifle had been heard.
“What’s thet, thar in the bresh?” yelled Coomby.
“I heerd er noise, too,” began Clancy, “an’----”
Just then the Piute’s repeater spit forth a bullet. The piece of lead
was aimed at Clancy, but the instant the trigger was pulled Clancy
jumped forward to investigate the bushes.
The bullet, therefore, missed Clancy by an inch.
That shot was enough for the two scoundrels. Jerking out their
revolvers, they sent a volley into the hazels. That Cayuse was not
killed out of hand was due to the quickness with which he rolled over
the edge of the wall.
He shot down the slope head over heels, and was half-way to the place
where he had left Navi before he could regain his footing. He was
bruised, but that was no time to take account of bruises. His life
had been saved, although Clancy and Coomby were dancing around like
madmen on the top of the wall and still taking potshots at him.
Muttering anathemas on his hard luck, the boy raced in a zigzag line
toward the thicket where his horse was waiting, tore the animal loose,
leaped to his back, and sped off up the cañon.
He looked back over his shoulder as he raced and saw that Clancy
and Coomby had beat a retreat from the vicinity of the blasts; and,
while he looked, the boy saw a veritable geyser of broken stones leap
upward and outward from the cañon wall.
A great gap had been torn through the barrier, and the boy saw a
Niagaralike flood leap through the opening and roll, foaming and
roaring, down the cañon.
Could he beat that flood to the gully? Cayuse’s life depended on it,
and Navi was fleet and well in the lead.
Two miles lay between Cayuse and safety, but the miles were
down-grade--Clancy had said so, and he had got his information from
Lawless. Lawless probably knew, for the vengeful and murderous leader
had so far laid his plans cunningly and well.
Navi seemed to understand what depended upon him. The roar from
behind filled his ears and frightened him. In a perfect frenzy, he
stretched himself out in a race that was to save his rider from death.
And what of Buffalo Bill, in the level of the Forty Thieves?
Something like a sob rushed through the lips of Little Cayuse. He
shook one clenched hand behind him, toward a wall of water that
filled the cañon from side to side, tossing and churning itself to
foam and throwing arms of spray high into the air.
The roar was deafening. Water continued to pour through the break
in the cañon wall and to push forward the flood that raced down the
defile.
How Navi ever covered those two miles Little Cayuse never knew. He
realized, after what seemed like a thousand years of torment but
which in reality was less than a thousand seconds, that he was caught
by the rushing waters half-way up the slope leading from the cañon’s
bed to the mouth of the gully.
With Navi almost swept from his feet, and a greater flood following
the first on-rush of water, Cayuse was only saved from being drowned
by a riata that dropped over his shoulders just as he was being torn
from Navi’s back.
Hanging to the rope with one hand while the noose tightened about his
body, and with the other hand clinging to the end of the hackamore,
Cayuse and the pinto were brought, wet and floundering, into the
mouth of the gully.
Utterly exhausted, the boy straightened out on the rocks, while Navi,
with drooping head and lathered hide, puffed and panted beside him.
“Blamed if it ain’t Buffler Bill’s Injun pard!” cried a voice, above
the rush and swirl of water.
“How the blazes does he happen ter be hyer? He got out o’ that
cloud-burst by the skin o’ his teeth, an’ no more.”
This was from a second speaker, and yet a third chimed in with:
“Where’s Buffalo Bill an’ the rest o’ his pards? That’s what gits me.
D’ye think they was caught by the flood?”
Little Cayuse turned over on his back and looked up.
Hank Tenny, Lonesome Pete, and Henry Blake were beside him, each with
an arm hooked through the loop of his bridle.
Cayuse rose to his knees and struck one hand fiercely against his
forehead. His eyes were on the tumbling waters which, by then, had
filled the valley from wall to wall and were creeping slowly up
toward the gully.
“Whar’d ye come from, kid?” asked Hank Tenny.
“Whar’s Buffler Bill?” inquired Lonesome Pete.
“What’s the matter with ye?” demanded Blake. “Have ye gone plumb
daft?”
Staggering to his feet, the boy made his way to the side of the
gully’s mouth and began to climb.
“What ails the kid?” muttered Tenny. “’Pears like he didn’t hev no
sense at all.”
“Whar ye goin’?” Pete roared after Cayuse.
Cayuse called back something which was drowned by the rush of the
water, and beckoned with his hand.
“Kain’t hear what he says,” said Blake, “but he wants us ter foller.
We’d better go, I reckon. The hosses will be safe enough here.”
Dropping their bridle-reins, the three men proceeded to follow the
boy.
It was a stiff climb to the top of the gully wall, but when the men
pulled themselves over and got alongside Cayuse, they had a good view
of the ore-dump of the Forty Thieves--or, rather, of the place where
the ore-dump ought to be.
The dump, some seven or eight feet high, together with the entire
flat on which it had been piled, _was covered with water_!
The boy, his eyes fixed on the swirling, seething flood, dropped to
his knees and began a weird, monotonous chant. The rush of air along
the troubled waves caught up the boy’s voice and tossed it back and
forth in uncanny cadences. Now high, now low, swelled the chant, as
the Piute words burst from the Indian’s lips.
“Thunder!” Blake shouted in Tenny’s ears, “it’s a death-song.”
“Whose death is he croonin’ erbout?” returned Tenny; “Buffler Bill’s?”
“It’s hard ter tell who he’s----”
Blake broke off with a wild yell. At that instant the morning sun
struck fire from a blade which Cayuse had plucked from his belt and
lifted above his bare breast, point down.
The boy’s hand dropped, but Pete was quick to catch the descending
arm, hang to it, and wrench the knife from the hand.
“Darn!” whooped Pete, “the leetle red was goin’ ter knife hisself! It
was his own death-song he was singin’. He thinks his pard, Buffler
Bill, has hit the long trail, an’ he’s pinin’ ter foller. Whoever
heerd o’ sich doin’s? Stop yer squirmin’, Cayuse,” Pete added to the
boy, who was fighting to free himself. “We ain’t goin’ ter let ye
kick the bucket, now thet we went ter all thet trouble ter snake ye
in out o’ the wet.”
With a tremendous effort, Cayuse jerked free of Pete’s hands, whirled
about, and suddenly grew calm. Pete, Tenny, and Blake started toward
him.
Cayuse turned on them, his eyes glittering like a catamount’s in the
dark, laid a finger on his lips, and pointed.
The eyes of the white men, following the boy’s finger, rested on a
point of the cañon wall, fifty feet below, and to the right of them.
At this place there was a sort of shelf on the wall, a small level,
covered with an undergrowth of bushes. Horsemen were riding out of
the bushes, and striking into a path that mounted upward toward the
top of the wall.
Lawless, a look of gloating triumph on his face, was in the lead. At
his heels rode three Cheyenne bucks, and two of the bucks carried
each a white prisoner, bound hand and foot, across his pony behind
him.
One of the prisoners, as those above could see, was old Nomad.
And the other was Wild Bill!